Def Poetry #34

she said i'm looking nothing like my father

and I hope she'll say it again when we make a daughter

but to bookend comments makes me bother

and worry

toil and tremble

like the last crash of the cymbal

advances symbolic signs

of the finished lives

and the remains of lines

drawn with chalk

faded and scented

the dust still talks

still speaks the words

once written to smitten

the minds of children to convince them

of the merit of inventions

but the children don't remain

they change and age

until we're all elderly sages

content with the wisdom confined

to pages of our books

and through that window glass I look

at the world,

and when i read its through that glass twice

but i think when my eyes are closed

is when the world seems nice

for when i awake to the opaque

light translucent rays play

through the haze of my mind

and that split second of dreamy reality

is the only real sense of calm I ever get.

so i try to find the calm otherwise

my vices are nice when combined

i like to smoke when i drink

and i like the wine straight off the vine

I like to take shots with shots in the arm

and smiling while my nostrils get filled

never did any harm

and taking that tab while i chew on the caps

really makes me relax

and writing along with all of these things

escapes my mind to the realms of dreams

so please don't open it

i'm addicted to addiction

some say its unfortunate

but it's the gift that keeps giving.

and while i'm still living

I know i'll never know about many of the things in this list

but the gist of what i'm trying to comment

is the comfort of not having to deal

the comfort of accepting i can choose to not be real

and while it won't last

and while i shouldn't want it to last

i know that this life will never last either

so i'll walk that tight rope line

looking for sure footing to find

a means to perceive her

For i truly want to believe her

the nature so motherly

i cannot deceive her

but knowing that one day like the snow i will leave her

and if my fate dissipates

like the seasons change the gates

of each person walking straight

then i will not stray

for that path is a blessing of thanks for each of these days-

in this book of life

pages left blank for the day to write

lined shavings of wood- whose rings have been pressed

molded and colored to hold what we could

never express

to suggest that there is a conquest

and life is consequentially essential

to live as our best.

fuck the rest.